Not Even For Me
by amor-remanet
Summary: Mysterious illness, a bad day at work, and an accidental OD. Even Death Eaters shouldn't have to deal with that. SLASH, SeverusxBarty Crouch, Jr.


Severus gets home late from his job at the Diagon Alley apothecary, shambling through the door – into dim light, still an improvement on the humid, dark-as-his-hair night and the fluorescent lights in the halls – grumbling, and with a headache so big he's close to hitting it with a stick. Unlike usual, Barty doesn't rush to greet him…he understands of course, since Barty's been ill recently, but he selfishly wishes for that loving embrace, plump-lipped smile, and to run his fingers through that hair (the same color as straw in the sunlight, though Barty can't hear any of Severus' rare flattery without blushing). As he kicks the door closed, he reminds himself that his selfishness is fairly reasonable: he both opened and closed the shop, and it was full up all day with Hogwarts students being noisy little brats while buying their potions ingredients. And it was like that the day before, and probably will be the same tomorrow. If he needs anything at all, it's Barty's hopelessly, unfailingly adorable optimism and assurance of love. They both know that the optimism is a bit of a front, something he insists on to keep himself from going completely mad, but it's also the best thing to come home to after a day of minding those hell-beasts.

Bloody little pestilences and their bloody noise…for all their awfulness, not even Potter and Black were that terrible, in school or when they'd stopped by. Even _they_ could respect the sanctity of the apothecary. Under its roof, Severus was safe when those twin terrors popped in to buy things to make potions for their respective ball-and-chains (what Evans and Lupin, who were – admittedly – not terrible people, saw in _them_ was never obvious). They were even _pleasant_ to him, asked how it was going even though they had no interest…and it was forced on Black's part, of course, but still…those _children_! _Merlin_! It's quite a wonder that he hasn't hexed one of his customers yet, and it's not like they don't deserve it…at least he has a Barty to come home to, even if he isn't making himself evident at the moment. Poor boy's probably dead asleep…

Muttering curses under his breath at nothing in particular (at his customers, at his shoes when they won't come off, at whatever the hell is making Barty get sick), he throws down his satchel bag by the sofa, which is about the only thing they have that isn't second hand. It was a moving-in gift from Barty's mum, and one of the last things he ever accepted from her that was more than a box of cookies she and their house elf made. Shaking the thought out of his head, Severus sulks back into the kitchen: there's nothing wrong with Barty's refusal to accept help from home; it's perfectly fine and understandable; after all, he's nineteen and his father's been a distant prick since anyone can remember…his chip-on-shoulder is acceptable here.

As he rubs the bridge of his nose, he rummages through the medicine cabinet for those headache-curing pills. Technically, they're Barty's, Severus bought them for him (foregoing the new potion-making book that tantalized him every day as he walked past Flourish and Blott's) a few months ago, when he could barely stay up past eight in the evening because of crippling headaches. He still doesn't know that Severus hasn't bought the book, though, when his head is clearer, he questions its absence – it still stares at Severus out of the bookshop window…he's been putting money aside from what they need to get by in the hopes that he can buy it soon…but they needed the pills first, since he can't be at home, making potions all hours of the day. The Leaky Cauldron's never short of help or patronage, so Barty can get time off and still get paid; the apothecary, on the other hand, is Severus, the witch who owns the place, an older wizard with too many health problems to be reliable, and a vapid girl who just needs a job so her boyfriend won't call her a mooch. Besides, if he's sleeping, Barty will never miss just one to help out his lover.

…But they're suspiciously absent, completely not there. They're _supposed_ to be right between the Pepper-Up Potion and the Hangover Potion, but there's a hole where their bottle goes. Oh _Merlin_…he's ill again after all. Sure, it's probably _expensive_ to go to Saint Mungo's, even just for a quick look over by a Healer so Severus can rest easily, but…it'd be better for him. And if that's not enough motivation, he'll stop making his mum and Severus worry. And, to be fair, his mum hasn't looked so good the past few times she's come down with their house elf, which she doesn't need to do…they live in the seedy part of London, and she's probably ill herself, and it's obviously not doing her any good to worry because her nineteen-year-old son won't let people help him.

He sighs and closes the cabinet door. It's an irritant, yes, but he supposes he'll just have to cope with a headache. He's coped with harder things before, so he can cope with this. Now, just to find Barty, make sure he's okay for now.

"Barty?" he calls, flinching at his own noise. "Barty, are you there?"

No answer comes…really unusual. Even ill, Barty's a light sleeper. So he goes around and checks the sofa, hoping to find Barty, as he's thought, sleeping off whatever happens to be ailing him right now. …He's on the sofa. But he's definitely not sleeping, though his eyes are closed. His skin is normally pale, like his mum's, but now it's ghost-white, like the Bloody Baron's; even his freckles barely show up, and his blonde hair is limp and dulling to a half-brown, his breathing shallow, and, when Severus touches him, he's cold. …He's never cold. Severus is always the cold one. When he brushes Barty's face, he doesn't stir. Remembering how his mother checked his father after nights of heavy drinking, he presses two fingers to the pulse point on Barty's wrist (upturned, since, even ill, he refuses to consciously burden Severus). Finding little, maybe nothing, he moves up to his neck. It's slow, fading fast. …Oh, _fuck_.

This has only happened once that Severus was there to see, and it wasn't with Barty. But Tobias Snape – undisputed Muggle king of drinking everyone else in Spinner's End under the table and making his wife sob – nearly drank himself to death one night, before Severus' fourth year, and he had _only_ been saved by a combination of a cold shower and the magic he so despised. A quick survey of the room shows Severus all he needs: the pill bottle lies open on the floor, a lone white tablet next to its opening, and a glass of what he hopes is water sits, nearly gone, on the second-hand coffee table. Fucking…the last thing they _need_ is for the other die, and…an overdose is a death so pathetic that neither can think of someone for whom it would be too good. But Severus saw his mother save his father, and he knows what to do.

With all the strength and delicacy he can muster, he pulls Barty up off the couch and drags him the short distance to the bathroom; with a flick of his wand, he runs a cold shower and clambers into it. He places Barty in front of him, so that he can get more of the water's effect, and, although he doesn't like the cold pounding on his skin, he stays in to keep Barty up. Lightly, he slaps Barty's cheeks, to no apparent effect. Skin's still cold, and the freckles are fading fast.

But he's still breathing, even if it's light, nearly inaudible. Time for magic: pointing his wand at Barty's temple, Severus bit his lip and mustered all the will he can, desperately thinking: Ennervate! Ennervate! _Damn it_! _Work already_! Ennervate! _Damn it, Barty_! Ennervate! _You are NOT ALLOWED to fucking DIE on me_! _Oh, Merlin, why did I let you take those_? Ennervate! _Why didn't I MAKE you go to Saint Mungo's_? _Money's not important and your mum can pay if we need her to_! Ennervate! Ennervate! _Damn it_! Ennervate! _Come on, already_! Ennervate! Ennervate! Enner-_fucking_-vate!

Finally, it works, and Barty coughs and splutters back into life. One particularly strong hack sends both of them slipping down onto the bottom of the shower; it doesn't occur to Severus to turn the shower off. To facilitate the coughing, Severus eases him up, one hand on his back and the other on one of his hands…he's still cold, but he's warming up quickly to spite the freezing water. But the cough subsides and Barty slumps forward, bowing his head and breathing heavily. Instinctively, Severus runs a hand up and down his spine in a slow, steady rhythm, and he shudders, and – for once – it's not a comforting sound; it sounds too much like what they have only _just_ avoided.

"Thank you," Barty chokes out like it takes too much effort.

"What did you think you were _doing_?" Severus whispers.

"Severus, I-"

He cuts himself off, coughing again. Met with no resistance, Severus turns him around and finds that it isn't coughing at all; it's crying, making his face wetter than the shower water, like all that is riff-raff and doesn't matter. Then, he lets reason take a break; his boy needs him. Without a word, he places a hand on Barty's back, near his skinny waist, and uses the other to caress his face, wiping the one cheek's scalding tears away with his thumb. Carefully, he eases Barty down closer to him, nearer his chest and between his own legs, and he kisses his lips. It's delicate at first, but slowly begs its way into a more intimate display. Snake-skilled and caring-yet-slippery, he strokes Barty's tongue with his own, trying to coax out an explanation in exchange for comfort in the form of a twisting, turning loss of self in each others' mouths and spider-like fingers seeping into his sopping hair. The closeness of their chests dissipates completely into being fully pressed together, and Barty relents, putting his hands on Severus' shoulders…before he pulls away…

"Severus-"

"Sssh," Severus murmurs, moving his fingers to Barty's lips. "Get yourself cleaned up, put on some dry clothes…I'll make tea and we'll talk."

Barty nods. "Okay…talk. Talk is good."

He backs off, smart boy that he is, and sinks to rest on his knees, head down and breathing still coming in pants. For a brief moment, it looks as though he's staring at his arm, the right one, with the Dark Mark on it (blazing black against the bare white skin of his inside arm)…but no. He's not. He can't be. Joining had been a quick decision for both of them, but Severus went first and Barty played the incredibly effective "I'm your lover; include me in all parts of your life" card. There was no way he could argue…but Barty _had_ been almost unfailingly healthy until the ceremony…no. No one else had gotten ill after joining the Death Eaters; the two things are _completely_ unrelated. Besides, this is what he wanted, and he's only ever second-guessed himself. In an attempt to comfort him, Severus kisses his cheek and turns the water off before leaving the shower; he only makes a weak, mewing sort of noise, but it's better than nothing. There's silence until Severus pulls off his soaked robes (luckily, the shirt and trousers he has on underneath them aren't even damp) and begins drying his hair with the first towel he grabs out of the closet.

"Sev," Barty sighs, restraining a whimper as a trade off for using Severus' nickname; he's the only one who can get away with it, and only rarely. "It still hurts…"

"It'll hurt for a while, love."

He knows even as he says it that he's lying for strength. The pain in his went away after only a few days. Even Regulus Black – according to Bellatrix anyway – only complained for a week when he got his in June, right out of Hogwarts. Barty's was a birthday present of sorts, since he turned nineteen the same day it happened – February 21st. He spent that night, after the ceremony, asleep, and most of the next day vomiting. But…some lies are acceptable, just like some forms of selfishness.

"…You keep saying that. I mean, it's dulled, but…is it ever going to stop?"

"It might be something else…" Severus certainly hopes so.

"Didn't think about that…thanks…_again_…"

"That's what I'm here for, Barty."

"But you do so much _more_, and I never thank you or anything…"

"That is completely untrue; you thank me on a daily basis, for anything and everything I do." His hair sufficiently dried, he kneels by the shower and looks Barty in the eyes. "There is something you could do, though, and we'll discuss it over tea."

"Okay…tea and talking."

"Exactly. Now, I'm going to make the tea and you're going to clean yourself up, okay?"

"Okay. Severus-"

"Barty, I…"

He wants to say "I love you." It's not hard to say "I love you" when Barty's feverish and nauseous and languishing on the couch with a headache, or when he's crying into Severus' shoulder – making a tear-stain and stretching the seams thinner than he is, something he's done for five years, just over five; he always apologizes for it, but Severus doesn't mind, never minds, always tells him so even when he doesn't listen. But when he looks up from his arm, or the floor, or whatever – hair sticking to his face and eyes all imploring, agonized optimism – forces out a smile and all the accoutrements (lips thinned against kept in teeth, contrite, repentant crinkles around closed eyes)…the words get stuck in his throat. It's never been hard before. He reminds himself quickly that they just went somewhere that neither wanted to be, so it should be harder, but he doesn't want it to be.

"…I have to make the tea." And that's what comes out.

Barty nods, understanding perfectly and Severus shuffles out, tongue still fumbling his inability to speak. Making the tea is mindless – cast a Heating Charm on the water, put the tea bags in when it's boiling, maintain the heat – but it doesn't help anything. Just the thought that, when Barty needs his help most, he's turning into some sniveling, awkward little coward…it's a stab to the chest. _Coward_. The word stings, wasp-like, all over his cheeks, radiating out from right below his eyes. It's a slap in the face with freezing water and worse than being shown up, and – worst of all – it's undeniable. So he can be the strong one. So he can be Barty's backbone when a simple spine proves to not be…suffice to say, big deal if he can't be strong when it's really the time for it. Some help he is, more a Death Eater than a lover, and, _yes_, Voldemort has his _loyalty_, but Barty's supposed to have his _love_, and he can't give it. What the hell is wrong with him?

As the tea starts looking done, he feels two arms sneak around his waist and a still damp hear place itself on his back, near his shoulder, and he still can't talk. Damn it all, he's not supposed to lose his head and become inarticulate like this. He works well in his Death Eater capacity _because_ he speaks well and makes people believe him, which is probably – now that he thinks about it – why it's suddenly so hard to tell the truth…but it's never been a lie before. Has it? Does it have to be for him to mean it?

"I borrowed some of your clothes," Barty mumbles. "Mine all suck. Hope it's okay…"

"It's fine," Severus sighs. Why now?

"Sev…I'm sorry. I…I wasn't thinking."

"…Tea's on. Sit down, I'll get some cups, and we'll talk for real."

"O-okay…"

Bloody hell. He's being distant and it's upsetting Barty. Not that Barty doesn't try to hide this, because he _does_, but one would think that, after shagging for four years, they should be able to tell when the other is upset. It only takes a stutter. Just a quick, doubtful and suspicious stammer, which is _hardly_ a show of how terrible he must feel, and it's all Severus's fault. Once at the table, they look more at their tea than each other, and no one drinks any.

"What were you _thinking_?" Severus finally sighs.

"Nothing…that I was ill and they weren't working."

"I think that settles it, then."

"…Settles what?"

"I'm taking you to Saint Mungo's in the morning."

"_Sev_…no, really, it's okay, I'll be fine…I _am_ fine-"

"No, no you're not. You are far from fine and haven't been so for a while. I don't know what's wrong-"

"Nothing's _wrong_-"

"_Something's_ wrong because you're not alright, and I don't know why I haven't put my foot down about this yet, but I am now-"

"I'm not going. I don't need to."

"You can't just _stay_ here."

"I can, and I'm going to. I don't need to see any Healers or anything."

"_Please_? I'm just taking you to get checked over, you don't have to tell them about tonight if you don't want to, and, if nothing's wrong, I'll leave it."

"…What if something _is_ wrong? We don't have the _money_, and I-"

"Money isn't important to me; _you_ are."

"But, we-"

"If we have to ask your mum, it's not wrong. I have my pride too, but…your health is more important."

"…I'd really rather not."

"Why not?"

"I just _don't_, okay?"

"_No_, not okay. You're not, you're not going to be if you just stay here, and it's not if I let you-"

"_Sev_-"

"Listen to me: you're not fine, that's pretty much fact, and you won't go for yourself – why, I can't fathom, but you won't. But…will you go for your mum? She's concerned, if you haven't noticed. She's come down here three times already, and that's three more times than she should _have_ to."

"Well, I-"

"She's _worried_ about you, and she doesn't look so good herself. Don't make her go through this-"

"I'm not _making_ her do _anything_. I'd be _fine_ if she stayed at home. I-"

"Will you go for me?"

Barty finally looks up from his tea, blinking drowsily and staring at the apparently outlandish request. He squints and furrows his brow in some attempt to understand, but it doesn't appear to be working. This sort of thing has only happened once between the two of them: when Severus was getting ready to graduate…he wanted Barty to be there, but Barty didn't want to come because it meant a year of separation was coming. Talking to him when he's like this is grasping in the dark for something important, and being unable to put on a light because your wand isn't with you. It's all hit-or-miss, hinging entirely on whether or not Barty feels like cooperating. He probably doesn't even know that he has that sort of power. Restraining a small noise that claws at the back of his throat like a trapped rat, Severus lets his eyes clench shut and takes one of Barty's hands in both of his and presses the relenting fingers to his forehead, then his lips.

They're still cold.

Barty sighs. "Fine…I'll go…but it's only for you, and if there's nothing wrong, I don't want to hear anything about it."

"Thank you," Severus whispers, breathing warmly on the freezing fingers.


End file.
